


Cherry Impala

by DeansDirtyPiehole



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Baby, Busty Asian Beauty, Dean Winchester In Love, Dean Winchester is Loved, Demons, Destiny, Epic Love, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fate, Heaven, Hell, Lost Love, Lost Memories, Love, Pie, Plot, Porn, Porn With Plot, Sex, Smut, Smutty Tags To Be Added Per Each Smutty Chapter Posted, Strippers & Strip Clubs, The Impala (Supernatural), Time is Fluid, cherry pie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-13 03:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17480066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyPiehole/pseuds/DeansDirtyPiehole
Summary: There’s a reason why Dean Winchester loves all the things he does. And there’s a reason why he’ll never love a woman. Never really, truly fall in love with anyone.She's the reason. Heaven knows she's the reason for everything; Hell knows as well. But Dean can never know. He must never remember the life when he loved her. When she loved him. For all he knows, it never even happened.But it did.Samantha Cassandra Impala is her name. Some nights, she goes by Cherry Pie. Other times, she hunts things that go bump in the night. But then, one night, she bumps into a gorgeous green-eyed mechanic who changes her life. And she becomes the epicenter of his. Heaven can wipe her from his memory, even bend time to erase her from history... but Dean Winchester's heart never forgets.**********To envision Cherry: Imagine Sam and Cas co-father a daughter with a busty Asian beauty. Flowing dark hair, blue-hazel eyes. That's what she looks like. She's been a stripper, a yoga instructor, and a pie baker, but above all she's a badass hunter. Lives on rock music, booze, and burgers. Drives a black '67 Impala. In a lifetime before Dean loves any of these things. Until he meets her. She's the reason.





	1. Author's Note

This is the story of the epic love Dean Winchester deserves.

In this lifetime, he loves Sam, and Cas, and he's come close to falling in love with some girls. He loves pie, booze and burgers, Busty Asian beauties, bendy chicks and strippers, driving Baby all across the country, blasting classic rock and hunting monsters. But all of that comes from another life that he doesn't remember. All of that comes back to her.

Dean's love for Cherry — full name: Samantha Cassandra "Cherry Pie" Impala, who has a lot of Sam and Cas and Baby in her, and a little bit of Lisa Braeden and Cassie Robinson — is its own story, but it is also written as a tribute to everything and everyone he loves in the SPN canon. And though Dean hates himself, more than anything else, this is meant as a tribute to him.

 

** This will be porn with plot. The smut will begin in Part 3 of "The Stripper Who Blinds Him" (which will likely be posted as Chapter 6). **

 

**Table of Contents**

_(after the first two, most chapters will probably have multiple parts)_

1: The Angels Watching Over Him

2: The Demon That Reminds Him

3: The Stripper Who Blinds Him

4: The Teacher Who Bends Him

5: The Baker Who Feeds Him

6: The Hunter Who Finds Him

7: The Woman Who Loves Him

8: The Love That Still Binds Him

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be happy writing this as my tribute to Dean even if no one reads, but it'd be awesome if anyone ends up following this journey :) Compared to the fics that I've posted so far, it's a lot less shamelessly filthy, but it will still be dirty — once the smutty stuff begins, it doesn't really end... Because when Dean Winchester falls for a girl who's as hot and as horny as he is, there is obviously bound to be a ton of steamy sex. But this is still a love story above all else.
> 
> Thanks for reading this note <3 Please feel free to subscribe if you're interested! And I'm always super grateful for kudos and comments :)


	2. The Angels Watching Over Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven determines the course of Dean Winchester's doomed love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter in heaven is intended as a sort of prologue, to set the scene — all of the upcoming chapters will feature Dean :)

"Dean Winchester must never love a woman."

Every angel knows it. And every angel knows why. _Apparently_ , this one God-fearing archangel reflects with frustration, _there are some angels who need to be reminded_.

"It would compromise our father's plans for him," he states.

"But he was _made_ to love a woman," his less obedient sister objects. "The depth and the strength of his heart are like none other. Father Himself has said as much."

The archangel, eldest of those present, slowly shakes his head. "His heart is destined to feel great love as a son, and as a brother."

"Yes, but his heart is built to harbor more than that. You know it to be true, as well as I do."

"She is right," an even less obedient angel then chimes in. "And I can see, some years ahead, the man this Winchester grows into. His heart indeed is very big, and so are... certain other parts of him."

"Your irreverence is insufferable," the eldest grumbles.

"Is it? Try suffering this: what if he cannot love a woman because he was made instead..." the impudent one pauses for dramatic effect, "...to love a man?"

All assembled fall into a deeply uncomfortable silence.

The one who caused it breaks it, well aware that in this time and place, his remark amounts to nothing short of blasphemy. _It would have been received with much more grace among the humans nowadays_ , he mused. _Earth had always been far more progressive than heaven._ With no other option, he pretends to have been joking. "In seriousness, all I mean to say is—why would Father have created such a man, just to forbid the love for which his heart and body seem to have been made?"

"Our father works in mysterious ways. We must implement his will with trust and faith."

"There is a problem," another angel interjects, one famous throughout heaven for her supreme gift of foresight. "She... she was born today."

Another deep silence ensues.

"The same day that his younger brother was conceived," the eldest notes. "You are certain?"

"When have I ever not been," the foreseeing angel reminds him. "She is the one. The one that he will love above all things."

The archangel nods, clasping his fingers. "Then we shall eliminate her. Best sooner than later."

"Wait," his ever-defiant sister demurs. "If we deprive him of this love before it runs its course, then he will never know what he has lost. His heart may seek love for the rest of his life. Something that he will never find. This may well lead him down a wayward path. He may be... compromised."

"It is the only way."

"No—it isn't," the foreseeing one contends. "We can let their love run its course. Then erase it."

Another senior angel, known in heaven for his skepticism, glares at her from beneath a furrowed brow. "You would speak in riddles?"

"She speaks clearly," the archangel says, eyes narrowing in earnest contemplation. "And wisely. Time is fluid, after all."

This gives the skeptic pause. "To alter its trajectory requires a compelling cause."

"And what cause could be more compelling than this? If she was born today, perhaps she is fated to serve a purpose. To fill the man's heart, in this life, in such a way that he will never seek a woman's love in any other."

"Father approves of this solution. I can sense it," the foreseeing angel professes with confidence. "Mary must miscarry."

"But the second son—the plan..." the skeptic begins to protest.

"What part of time being fluid did you not understand?" the eldest snaps. "He will be able to devote more of his heart to her, in this world, in the absence of a brother. The younger son has no role in this... temporary reality. The order will be restored, once Dean Winchester's doomed love has run its course."

Silence again. And so it is decided.

“Let him love her in this life,” the archangel says. “Then we’ll reverse time and reset. She will be gone, and he will never love again.”

 


	3. The Demon That Reminds Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain demon down in hell is torturing Dean's soul... and knows exactly what will hurt the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene takes place during Dean's lifetime on the actual show, while he is in hell between Seasons 3 and 4.

_Thirty years._ That's how long it's been. And he's going to make them keep counting. For as long as it takes, until they lose track of the days, until hell freezes over, and even then—Dean knows one thing for certain: he is _never_ giving in. He'll be damned, even more damned than he already is here in perdition on his rack of endless pain, before he ever dreams of such a thing.

"You know, Dean," Alastair speaks through his perpetually grating teeth, sweeping his hand along the rough edge of the table where he keeps his tools and toys, sharp metal stained with blood and grime, "thirty years is a... _very_ long time."

Dean gathers up some of the blood that has pooled in his throat. Set to spit it out onto this demon scum's face the next time he comes close. He's already done that a few hundred times too many, through the years, so Alastair knows better than to be surprised, but Dean still thinks it's worth it. Seeing that ugly face cringe in displeasure just never gets old.

"Thirty years—now, isn't that how long you were alive..." Alastair drawls as he approaches with his favorite knife, "...in your first life?"

With no clue what the demon means, and not giving much of a fuck, Dean bites his tongue to generate more blood.

Alastair's own tongue parts from the roof of his mouth in a sinister cluck. "Oh, that's right—the angels on your shoulder never told you about all that."

Dean purses his lips as Alastair draws near, and once he's in range, releases his homemade blood-and-spit cocktail onto that despicable face.

The demon doesn't cringe this time. Just snickers darkly from behind the thick splatter of scarlet slime. "After thirty years down here, you'd think an old bitch like yourself might pick up some new tricks."

 _Who are you calling bitch... bitch._ That's the reply that Dean gives in his mind and with his dark, glowering eyes. He won't say it out loud, though. Demonkind always gets a kick out of mocking his unsophisticated comebacks and his general lack of wit. Not that he gives a shit. _Wit is for stuck-up bitches and jerks with small dicks_.

"Anyhow," Alastair continues, using the blunt side of his knife to scrape some of the blood off of his face, "I reckon there would be something... poetic in jogging your memory, right about now."

 _Poetic_ , Dean snorts silently to himself. _Poetry is just like wit: an ego trip for small dicks. So pathetic._

"I know you're no Shakespeare aficionado, but I do think even your dim-lit little nugget of a brain may see the poetry in this," the demon hisses, tracing the bloodstained blade in a slow dance along Dean's collarbone. "The angels keep so many dirty little secrets from you, Dean... but I'm here on your shoulder to help you remember."

The crease in his brow deepening, Dean watches as Alastair raises his free hand, pressing thumb up against forefinger.

"With one snap, all thirty of those evaporated years will just come flooding back," the demon says. "Let's see, shall we?"

Before Dean can say anything, the twisted fingers snap and flip a switch inside him that he never knew he had. The dark walls of his torture chamber collapse, the floor giving way as he falls freely off of the rack and suddenly down into an abyss of boundless black.

The deepest darkness, then the brightest light, as the thirty years of his first life flash right before his eyes.

As it all comes back.

 


	4. The Stripper Who Blinds Him (Part 1)

"Strippers and booze, baby," the happy drunk bachelor hoots. "Strippers and booze."

Dean cracks a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He joins the bachelor and his party in raising shot glasses and bellowing the words out like a battle cry. Throws back another few. More than a few. He doesn't count; he doesn't care. The whole town of Lawrence knows that he can hold his liquor, so it's not as if he has a thing to prove. It's not as if he even likes the taste of booze. Just damn good at pretending to.

He can pretend again tonight, but if he's honest with himself, he isn't in the mood. Blames it on lack of sleep. Sleep creeps the shit out of him lately, since he's woken in a cold sweat for what has to be something like thirty nights in a row now. It's been a whole month of sick dreams about weird dudes with wings watching over him. Something tells him these freaks are supposed to be angels, but they look nothing like the little figurine his mom had set above the crib in his old nursery, the one that would watch with a smile as Mary crooned her favorite Beatles tunes to lull her son to sleep.

Not that Dean has any memory of that. He was just a baby then. But he imagines that he can remember, based on what his mom would tell him when she wept and held him tight, and he still keeps the angel doll right by his bedside, because the cancer couldn't take that from him even if it tried. Made-up memories and twenty-five-cent figurines are all he has.

He tosses back another shot and grits his teeth. These recent dreams have really been fucking him up; he hasn't fixed a car up right in weeks, and that bothers the shit out of Dean, even if none of his customers are car-savvy enough to see just what a bang-up job he's done.

And now—here in this strip club called Hell's Belles, of all goddamned places—it feels like the feathery stalkers are all around him, watching him again. Apparently screwing with his sleep isn't enough for them. Now the fuckers want to haunt him when he's wide awake.

If he grips the glass in his hand any harder, he's sure it will break, so he sets it on the counter and sucks in a long, deep breath. Cringes at the stench of cheap liquor and sex that's even cheaper. It makes him think of how, after his mom had passed, his dad had turned down a dark, sin-ridden path, practically fucking and drinking himself to death. There's a damn good reason why Dean doesn't like strippers and booze. He needs some air, bad.

What he does _not_ need is a pair of fake boobs in his face. But that's what he gets as he turns in his seat, just about to head out. He leans back a bit to avoid getting hit with a big, unsolicited mouthful of tit.

"God, you are gorgeous," the big-titted blonde stripper standing in front of him says. "You know every girl in this club wants to eat you right up?"

Dean grimaces, airways assaulted with sweat-laced perfume. "Sorry, kid, but I'm not on the menu."

Bitch doesn't take the hint. Giggles as if he'd been joking. "Ohh, and you're funny, too," she coos, leaning in closer as she makes a show of sucking on her own finger. "Damn, the things I'd do to you..."

"Hey now, sugar," a gruff voice interrupts from behind her. "Where's that drink? You gonna keep the bachelor of honor waiting?"

She pouts and pulls the finger from her mouth with a loud pop, eyes lingering on Dean for far too long before she turns to flash a hollow smile at the bachelor and take his order. "No, sir."

Benny chuckles and checks out her ass as she sashays away, then looks over at his best friend, brows raised. "Call me crazy, but you look glad to get rid of her. Like I was doing you a favor."

"You were." Dean stands up from his seat, claps a hand on the bachelor's shoulder. "Listen, I gotta step out for a second, okay? Get some air."

"Nuh-uh. You ain't stepping out anywhere," Benny drawls, breath heavy with alcohol. "Sit your pretty ass down. Bachelor's orders. You're the best damn chick magnet we've got in here."

"You guys don't need a magnet, Benny. You've got money."

The bachelor waggles a finger at Dean, pokes it playfully into his chest. "Yes, but when you're here, the bitches flock over for free."

"Yeah, that's the problem," Dean mutters. _That plus his winged stalkers._ All of a sudden, the sensation of their creepy presence is stronger than ever.

He pushes past his friend and just barely avoids colliding with a curvy minx balancing a tray of drinks. One whose stripper outfit happens to involve a stupid halo and a pair of angel wings. _That doesn't even make sense. This place is called Hell's Belles, damn it_.

Dean heaves a sigh as he moves toward the exit. "I fucking hate strippers."

And that's when he bumps into her.

Everything before and afterward becomes a blur. All he can see now are blue-hazel eyes, clear as a morning sky gilded by bright streaks of sunlight. Long raven hair, shimmering against her bare shoulders like silken sheets of starlit night. Cherry lips that look like they were made to wrap around his...

"Dick," the big-titted stripper who had come onto Dean earlier addresses him now with an exaggerated scowl, appearing out of nowhere alongside the raven-haired stunner. The blonde's gaze is ablaze with indignation, over-applied just like her eyeliner, a cover-up for what has to be jealousy. "You just crashed into her like a bulldozer and all you're gonna do now is stand there and stare? We may be sluts who dance for money, but that doesn't mean we don't deserve some basic fucking courtesy."

Before Dean can even begin to snap out of his daze, let alone to say sorry, both women are gone. Vanished into the crowd, beyond his hazy field of vision. The blue-hazel-eyed stripper had just stood there while he'd stared at her. _Had she also been... staring at him?_ He wasn't sure. He no longer felt sure of anything. Were it not for the afterimage of her face that he now knew would be imprinted in his memory ever after their collision, he would've been convinced that it had never happened.

His trance is somewhat broken as Benny comes up beside him, along with one of their buddies. The bachelor lets out a long, lewd whistle. "I think you just had eye-sex with that Busty Asian Beauty, Dean. Till Boob Job Barbie came to intervene."

Dean can feel a furrow forming in his brow. He doesn't like that label. Hell, he's not even sure if she's Asian—the color palette of her eyes, all blue and green and golden-brown, suggested otherwise. _But they were almond-shaped_ , he remembers. Upturned and tapered in the subtlest, sexiest way. _Maybe she is Asian._  And though his gaze had been fixated on her face, he had peripherally noticed all the rest of her: slim and firm with shapely curves, and perfectly full, natural-looking breasts. _So she is busty, yes_.

He hates that label nonetheless. "Don't call her that."

Benny shoots him a quizzical stare. "What, you think Barbie was born with those big jello tits?"

"No, I mean—"

"Oh, the other chick? She's practically straight off the pages of Busty Asian Beauties," Benny says, pausing for a second as he processes the blank look on Dean's face. "Oh, come on, Dean— _please_ tell me you've heard of that magazine..."

Dean hasn't. It sounds like trash. But part of him knows he'll be picking one up the next time he walks by an adult magazine rack.

"Well, hell, I'm just glad we finally found a stripper that Dean doesn't hate. Don't think you'll be needing to step out for air after all, huh," Benny teases, jabbing his friend in the ribs. "Should we call her over? Did you get her name?"

Of course he didn't. He'd been standing in stupefied silence.

The drunken friend standing beside them takes the opportunity to butt in. "She goes by Cherry Pie. And she's half-Asian, actually. Daddy was a white guy who came down with yellow fever while working some job in Korea."

_Oh. No wonder she's so fucking beautiful_ , Dean muses _._ Enigmatically, exotically, exquisitely beautiful, completely unlike anyone or anything that Dean has ever seen, or even dreamed.

The friend goes on to disclose more about her. "Both parents died in a freak accident when she was a kid."

Benny raises his brows at him. "Okay, stalker."

"Dude, shut up—it's not like that," the friend protests. "I heard it all from Boob Job last time I was here. She's her half-sister."

"I see. So one white guy bites the dust, and leaves behind two little hoes with daddy issues," Benny quips. "Hell, if he weren't dead, I'd buy him a drink."

Dean turns to leave.

"What the hell, Dean—"

"I said I need some air."

He needs it even more badly after having laid eyes on the half-Asian beauty. The last thing he needs now is yet another unwelcome appearance from Barbie. But that's what awaits as he turns down a hallway toward the nearest exit. This time, he doesn't get hit with a mouthful of tit. Instead she thrusts the contents of a cocktail glass into his face as he's rounding the corner.

Dean blinks, spitting out some of the liquid that has splashed into his mouth, but doesn't even bother saying anything. Could’ve sworn that he saw the girl’s eyes flash jet black for a split second, the pupils swallowing the irises and whites, but he must’ve just imagined it. In any event, he is _so_ done with her shit. Heads toward the exit.

But he doesn't make it. Feels his vision swiftly darken as his body sinks. _What the fuck was in that drink..._ With his consciousness fading, wondering for a split second whether he has just been poisoned, Dean's last thought is just to hope that he will see those bright blue-hazel eyes in heaven.

 


	5. The Stripper Who Blinds Him (Part 2)

"He is the one. You can feel it, can't you. The one who will wield heaven's weapon against you."

Cherry bites down hard on her glossy red lip and pretends not to have heard. Busies herself with another drink order. She has many to attend to—in the few weeks since she started working here at Hell's Belles, Cherry Pie has become very popular. Though the men of Lawrence love to watch her work the pole, they seem to like her even more working the floor, serving up their orders, so that they can use the excuse to brush up close to her, to grope and squeeze and grind against her as they please.

It's absolute hell. She'd give anything not to be one of its belles. But there's no way she could be anywhere else, ever since she learned that a fucking demon was possessing her half-sister. While under possession, the once innocent eighteen-year-old had dropped out of school, bleached her hair, gotten oversized implants, and started a life as a stripper named Sugar. So Cherry is here to protect her, from the men in this joint but more so from the creature inside her. That was exactly what the demon had intended, of course—for Cherry to follow her possessed half-sister and end up at this town, in this club, on this night—which only makes Cherry despise her even more.

She misses her life on the road as a hunter. Day to day, case to case, monster to monster. Saving people, hunting things. It wasn’t exactly a family business, but family was the reason she fell into it. In many ways, that life was shit: a life of blood and battle scars, a diet of roadside diner grub and stolen candy bars, cold nights alone in the backseat of her car or a crap motel charged to a fake credit card. But it always felt worth it. For one thing, it felt good to rescue all those evil sons of bitches’ would-be victims. Even more importantly for Cherry, though, the hunter’s life felt worthwhile to her because she'd always had a mission.

_Heaven's weapon._ She remembers well the last words of her father, on that night when he had stumbled into the apartment where she then lived with her mother. Her parents had divorced a few years earlier, but her mother always told her that her father was a good man, that it was no fault of his that she had fallen out of love with him. He swung by their apartment often; he would pick Cherry up once in a while to spend weekends together, sometimes with his wife and daughter, the younger daughter that he liked to call Sugar. 

But he had never visited in such a state as on that night, frantic and bloodstained. Cherry was sitting in the kitchen doing homework when he came. He had asked where her mother was; she had pointed to the bedroom, and as soon as he’d opened the door, Cherry had seen the room burst into flames. She remembers screaming. She remembers Daddy rushing out and grabbing her, guiding her down the fire escape. She remembers landing on the grass outside, seeing just how badly he was bleeding, blinded by the tears in her eyes as he died.

Most of all, she remembers what he said, before he laid his head to rest. First he had held her close, reminded her how much he loved her, calling her by her name for one last time. Both of her parents had always called her Cherry, for as long as she could recall. Cherries had always been her favorite fruit, her favorite flavor, so at first it was a nickname, and the name just sort of stuck. There wasn't much meaning behind it, but Cherry liked it. So she kept it.

"Cherry, Baby," her father had said. "Heaven wants you dead. You can't let that happen. You must find and destroy heaven's weapon."

And then he was gone.

Cherry had lived for a few years, after her parents' death, with Sugar and her mom. She had tried to forget what her father had said. The cryptic words terrified her. They made no sense.

Then the demons had begun to appear in her dreams. She had tried not to listen to them, but they had been persistent. Sometimes they would torment her with visions of her parents, bloodstained and chained in cages, in a dark place where she knew they did not rightfully belong. They had been  _good_. To see them suffering in hell was wrong. They had deserved to go to heaven, she was sure.

_But then again_ , she would remember,  _heaven apparently wanted to kill her_.

Cherry had assured herself that she was crazy, till she came face to face with a flesh-and-blood demon, possessing her stepmom. The demon had told her to find and destroy heaven's weapon. Just as her father had said. And it had threatened that, for every day that she did not, the demons down in hell would torture her parents even more brutally than they already were.

She remembers struggling against the demon; she remembers a stranger appearing and chanting in some foreign tongue, till a column of black smoke poured out from her stepmother's lungs. The woman's limp body had slumped to the floor, unconscious but thankfully still alive.

The stranger who saved her that night was the first hunter that Cherry would meet in her life. He would not be the last. She had asked him to teach her his ways, and had told him that she was determined to get far away from her stepmother and half-sister, so as not to ever put them in danger. Having recently lost his own wife and daughter, he'd been kind enough to take her in, to bring her on the road with him, to educate and train her, and to help her in her search for heaven's weapon, asking nothing in return. He was like a father to her.

And when she had lost him too, some years later, bloody and beaten to death by some unholy creature, it had hurt, just as badly, just like her first father. The most and the least she could do was try to carry on, lead the life that the hunter had left to her.

Now here she is, in Hell's Belles, working as a stripper, her hunting life derailed thanks to the same demon that had once possessed her stepmother, now inside that woman's daughter. Cherry shuts her eyes as if to blink away her whole sad, fucked up life. She wishes too often that she had just never been born.  _But time can't be reversed like that_ , she knows.  _The past can never be undone._

If ever there was a reason why she'd want to be alive, she'd just bumped into it tonight. It was the first time in her life that anything ever felt... right. She knows that it's madness to think it, to feel so much, to see so much inside some stranger's eyes. But that gorgeous gaze of green was unlike anything that she had ever seen.  _That dark golden-brown hair framing his flawless face, those full pink lips that look like they were made to kiss_... She just can't shake the feeling, even if she tries.

She doesn't try.

Her possessed sister tells her his name.  _Dean Winchester._  The one who will wield heaven's weapon against her.

Cherry wishes now more than ever that she could exorcise the bitch out of her sister's body, but clear ground rules had been set when they had met in Lawrence. The demon had warned her that if Cherry attempted anything offensive—exorcism, a devil's trap, even so much as a splash of holy water—she would see to it that her precious vessel was fatally wounded. And, of course, Cherry's parents in their prison in perdition would pay for it in pain as well. The demons always pull that same card, but the trick never gets old or any less effective. Cherry knows that the possible forms of suffering and torture are truly infinite in hell.

"You do know what to do, don't you?" the demon, through her half-sister's lips, wickedly coos.

Cherry won't meet her gaze. Doesn't want to see the dark, unnatural smile on that once familiar face. "The task is to find and destroy heaven's weapon. That's what it's always been."

"Right, and how is that going?"

The mockery cuts deep; Cherry is well aware of how many years she's been searching, how miserably she's been failing.

"If you haven't found the weapon, then we need you to kill  _him_ ," the demon says.

Cherry had known better than to expect the order to be anything less. Feels every fiber of her being scream in protest. "And by 'we' you mean...?"

"Oh, I don't know—me, and some hundreds of other demons... and, of course, your family."

"If you're so hell-bent on his death, why not kill him yourself?" Cherry snaps, though the thought of that man dying by anyone's hand is more than she can stand.

"Silly little twit," the demon spits. "We all have our roles to play. This is yours. Take it, or your big-titted sister and blood-spattered parents will pay." 

Cherry closes her eyes again. There should not be a choice to make. He is a stranger to her, and supposedly fated to slay her someday.  _His life against the life of her own innocent half-sister, the endless torment of her mother and father..._  This should not be a choice, for her. There should be no question.

"Why such hesitation?" the demon inquires, studying Cherry's face with her black-engulfed gaze, lips curling up into a smirk as she discerns the girl's desires. "Aw, I see... You think he's pretty."

Cherry bites her tongue.  _'Pretty' doesn't come close to describing..._

"Can't say I blame you. Want to fuck him, don't you," her possessed sister continues. "Want to taste every sweet inch. You're thinking what a fine waste it would be to slaughter something so delicious."

The way these twisted words are cutting straight to Cherry's core makes her feel like a real piece of shit.

"Go ahead, then. May as well... milk his final moments for all they're worth. Milk it right out of that big, gorgeous dick," the demon goads her in a raspy whisper. "Fucking worship the man who is fated to kill you. That's just the kind of sick, pathetic slut you are, now isn't it."

Cherry's throat is convulsing with thirst, and the shame that she feels is the absolute worst.

"Wouldn't Daddy be so proud to see his dirty little bitch—"

"F—fine, I'll do it," Cherry stammers suddenly. The words just tumble from her lips. She has no clue what she is actually agreeing to.

The demon will take her assent nonetheless. Her black eyes sparkle for a second, then switch back to Sugar's natural color. "Perfect. I'll get him all nice and ready for you," she promises, grabbing one of the cocktails from a nearby tray, furtively slipping something into it as she flounces away.

Cherry swallows hard, trying and failing to steady her heart. She knows that it's not just the horror and dread that have set her pulse racing, her blood on fire, pounding through her veins. More than anything, it's the thought of looking into those impossibly green eyes again.

 


End file.
